The Moon Has Teeth

The clouds are an old quilt

torn and soft with bits of stuffing 

poking through the worn stitching 

double-ring

And the moon grins 

Teeth gleaming through

Celestial Jack o’lantern 

A child in the winter night

Light held aloft, blanket in hand

trailing off to bed

Only to find

A catenary pillow fort of luminous

Stars to the end of time

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3:03 am

if you were to ask me why

Am I up at 3 am

I would say it is because of:

The missing victims’ impact statements

The juvenile probation officer who said, “well, we can’t keep him forever”

(Like the rape of children ain’t no thang in the great state o’ Tejas)

The count prosecutor who proved wormholes in the fabric

Of the universe 

By simple recounting in court

The  drole one

About inadvertently possessing a marijuana tree

For awhile anyway, until his peace officer friends pointed out 

It’s general unferniness.

The municipal prosecutor they made up

To save themselves and not the little girl

Whose deliberately misplaced name still drives this mother-rage 

Against all the feckless adults who should have

Known better.

When “hurt” is a euphemism 

last night I talked 

To one of the many victims 

Of your perfidy 

People who lost 

Because you chose evil

Faithful in small things 

Has always formed the acronym

I use for this well of anger

For when children (very young)

Are hunted prey in the 

House

I left without you

Even heaven could be 

An old broken-down house

As long as Love

Made a fortress out of

Hard-won pillows.

No band-aid love

these paper cuts

Crass bits of pain

Catch unaware the

fireflies and sparks rising through

Cloud gray skies

Recumbent dragons-rivery road-

rundown house unblinks as the

broken boy steps in front of 

The barreling  18-wheeler.

Call for the medic, the surgeon, 

the poet who can

Conjure words to turniquet this-

No band-aid love-

All wounds and piercing sorrow

You smooth out your own discarded flesh

A coat laid down at our muddied feet

Temporary tomb

Swaddle  the dead

Call gossamer gauze, 

shroud, or interstitial subatomic strings

Cast lots if you will

For his seamless

Heart.

Paint with both hands

lovely because

it could be

Both an injunction 

or a relationship

We see the artist, forget the camera

Pinpoint of light

Opposable thumbs

Think what this man could do

With a prehensile tail

You and I may see the gift, the illustrated mind

But miss the other

trapped for now

in amber

As though Leonardo or Michelangelo 

Could have been felled by

The medium of genius

I can still see you 

Using the camera as well

to illustrate a trick of flying

Carefully editing  

out the machine 

which drew you 

To this point of before and after

To yet another deus ex

Machina- impossible will be

I pray for you always, brave little bird

Cage of the mind

puff of air

brush-stroke eyelash

Two kinds 

of childhood kiss

(Either butterfly or Arctic indigenous)

Again-could be 

Injunction or relationship-

Both hands

Paint us free.

Till you say

I would never say

You were just an accidental poet

Shoulders back, wing-perfect posture

You emerge from mid-morning 

Incidental hibernation

Lament- second to last,

Second to last

Explain it is not the tighties you mind

But the dull, uneventful patternless white

I must not forget these words fixed in light 

till you say?

Just a little bit…just a little bit

…but you said, no! You. Just. Said. No.

Child of perfect posture 

Butterfly wings

Please, please always, always

Fly home, my little winged one.